


Mourning Is Best Done in Pairs

by honeysbhee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Grieving, deep talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 03:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysbhee/pseuds/honeysbhee
Summary: In which Thor and Brunnhilde recount their losses and mourn together, primarily over Brunnhilde's loss of the valkyries.





	Mourning Is Best Done in Pairs

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This has been worked on for quite a while, so I'm just finally posting it!! Feel free to tell me what you think of it all!! Thanks for reading!

"Valkyrie."

He found her cradling the Dragonfang to her chest as if it were her last possession. He found her in a corner of the ship, away from the other Asgardians, unbothered and untouched. Her cheeks were stained with tear streaks and her legs were draped in blue satin. He found her hunched over so no one would see her face, a bottle of unopened alcohol by her legs, far too quick to wipe her tears and give a broken smile when he spoke her name. 

  
"Your majesty?" Her words lack that sarcastic edge, almost whispered, the  _bitter_ bite of the syllables replaced with something far more vulnerable. She bites down on her lower lip until it starts to bleed red and presses her chin to her chest. The Dragonfang is held closer still to her body, as if she fears that he plans to take it from her.  
He doesn’t move. Silence overcomes him, until he finally sits across from her, legs crossed, his own satin cape finding his hands and flooding his lap with red. Thor sighs and looks at his cape, then back up at her; she doesn’t make contact, but stares at the floor, her thumb running over the hilt of the knife in a slow, meditative fashion. “You know, this cape belonged to my father.” He starts slow, words leaving his tongue like marbles. Valkyrie sniffles, then nods, and he continues. “He looked to me and said, ‘my son, remember me with this.’ I have worn it ever since, and every time I see it, I think of him. Of course, it’s not just a reminder of my father... but it serves as that as well.”

  
She doesn’t respond right away, but moves slowly to bring the dagger from her chest and lay it across her lap. “I wasn’t crying.” Immediately, Valkyrie goes to denial, back straightening against the wall, her head remaining downwards. _Stay strong, or no one will_. She sniffles again, a weak chuckle escaping from her throat. Her hands reach for the bottle of alcohol and she snaps off its’ top, taking a swig and relishing the burning sensation it brings to her tongue. He watches her with a furrowed brow, his mouth in a thin line, as if he holds commands back, as if he wishes to express concern, but never does. Her bottle is halfway finished before he can speak again, and he does nothing but sigh.

  
“You’re running away again.”

  
“I don’t run from anything.”

  
“Talk to me. Please, you’re grieving — it’s written on your face, in your voice.”

  
Valkyrie furrows her brows. “No… I-I’m not.” She stumbles over her words, taken aback by his. “It’s not. I’m not grieving, your _majesty_. Shouldn’t you be piloting your ship?” The Dragonfang finds her chest one more, her fingers digging into its’ sides and turning white from her grip; her expression changes to a desperate passion and her eyes plead for him to leave her alone.

  
“What was her name?”  
“Thor—”

  
“If you won’t tell me anything, I’ll just ask more questions and bother you until you do.” He looks pleased with himself, moving to sit besides her, his head touching the wall. “Now, let’s begin again: what was her name?”

  
The question is simple. Elegant and exposing. Valkyrie looks over at him once more. There’s nothing but curiosity that blinds his gaze — curiosity and some hidden compassion beneath all that swirling blue and green. She huddles into herself, the alcohol in her lap toppling over and spilling the rest of its’ contents before she can stop it. She curses under her breath, the lets out a long, heaving sigh, as if she dreaded revealing herself to him. “I can barely remember. Gunnr, I think. Why are you so curious in the Valkyries?”

“You’re here, you’re a Valkyrie, you’re automatically the most awesome beings I’ve ever had the chance to meet — what did she look like?”

  
He moves closer to her, his knee barely touching to hers. His cape remains in his lap, just spilling over his feet. Valkyrie smiles once, a flash of white teeth across a now-healed lip. “Beautiful. Gods, beautiful. Hair as gold as the sun, her eyes as blue as the oceans ... she laughed as if Asgard had opened and showed her the most beautiful riches in the world. My horse, Aragorn, he loved her. Loved her horse too, come to think of it.” She looks down at the dagger and inhales deeply, the air leaving from her nose in a heavy sigh. “When Hela attacked, Gunnr rushed into battle. She’d always been headstrong, determined. She saved my life, and lost hers in the process.”  
Valkyrie’s expression turns sour, lips twisted into an ugly frown, her brows furrowed as tears come back to her eyes. She closes them, and looks away, a whispered _excuse me, I’m sorry_ , mumbled under her breath as cool skin dabs at her eyes. “Anyways, she’s not the only one who died, but she died. I would have preferred I was killed, but…” She speaks rushed and sighs again, trailing off in her words and never planning to return to them. Suddenly she stands to her feet, the dagger returned to its’ place at her hip, the blue falling like a river behind her. She makes herself composed, glancing down at him with a nod of her head. “Shouldn’t you be piloting the ship, or at least seeing where we’re going?” Her words are softer, signaling the end of their initial conversation, her head held higher than before once she looks away.  
Thor shakes his head and shrugs. “I’ve gotten that under control.” He stands, a hand resting on his abdomen before sliding to his side. He goes quiet again, for a moment. “You shouldn’t bottle everything up, you know. It’s not healthy, it’s known to lead to harder things.”

  
“And you want me to share personal memories because of that?”

  
“If it will help, then yes.”

  
She swallows hard, then nods her head before turning around and sliding back down besides him, then reaching to pick up the empty bottle. It’s nose touches to her lips and she shakes the remnants into her mouth, before setting the bottle aside, her arms quickly going across her chest. “Okay. I barely remember anything _but_ that battle with Hela.” She shifts uncomfortably and her mouth hangs agape. “Oh,my name, it’s Brunnhilde. _Not_ Valkyrie”

  
“I thought it was Valkyrie,” Thor mumbles once she takes a pause in her words, causing her mouth to curl slightly at it’s corners, a gentle scoff to leave past her throat. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Now I feel foolish, going around and telling people that your name was ‘Valkyrie’ and all that —”

  
“I used Valkyrie for my own reasons. Keeping them alive, I suppose. A lot of things are to keep them alive.” Here she glances down at the Dragonfang, her fingers tapping against its’ hilt once more. She looks back over to Thor, her eyes glassy with saltwater, before looking past him and blinking her tears away. “Anyways, Gunnr. She… _I_ loved her. We’d spend hours training, hours _after_ training just. Talking. Not talking, _relishing_ every moment with each other. And then Hela took her away. Stripped her from the Valkyries, stripped her from me.” A laugh, bitter, accents her words and she shakes her head. “Y’know, Gunnr, she flung herself in front of me before Hela’s knife could meet its’ target.” Her fingers ghost to her heart as she looks up to Thor, the smile on her face looking less cheshire-like and more full of injury. She touches her hilt once more, this time gripping it and twisting it in its’ shaft. “The worst thing is that I couldn’t bury her, or find her body. When I fell from Aragorn, I fell out of my path, down to Sakaar. I never…”

  
Valkyrie lurches forwards to learn herself on her knees, a sharp inhale through her lungs. Thor reaches and pulls her to his chest, his arms going around her, holding and hugging tight. His chin rests on the top of her head and her arms snake around his waist, fingers clawing at his back. “I saw her face.” She speaks in a pained whisper, choked out by her sobs that refuse to stay away. “I saw her face, when Hela’s knife hit her back. Ever furrow of her brow, every twist of her mouth as she grimaced in pain. _Gods_ , I swear I could hear her groaning.” Her tears refuse to stop meeting his breastplate, and she digs herself deeper into his chest, nails placing themselves in his arms. “And I never saw her again. I mean, I saw her die, I _watched_ her die,but I… I would have wanted to say goodbye. You know how that feels, right?” And here she looks validation in him, some semblance of understanding in his eyes, that _felt_ the same as she. Her tears stop for a moment as she pulls away from him, her bare arms quick to meet her cheeks to wipe away the tear stains that would be left.

  
“I do,” He speaks after a while, after watching her body pull from his and hunch over, after watching her cover herself once more and hide away her pain beneath her armor. Thor places a hand on her back but removes it quickly, leaning forwards to match her position. “I lost my father. You know this. Before that, I lost my mother. I _thought_ I lost my brother, many times, and then I lost my hammer. So, in a way, I have lost… everything.” He laughs, his own chuckle sounding bitter to her ears, but almost sad to his. “Yes, it’s not the same as losing an entire army, but… I _have_ lost family. I understand that pain very much.”

  
They fall silent, Valkyrie leaning back against the wall and Thor following suit. She looks at him, watches the twitch in his mouth and the way he blinks so calmly, as if his confession had rested on his tongue since they began to speak. “Thank you,” is all she says, all she can _manage_ to say.

  
He nods and wraps his arm around her shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze before standing to his feet. “Don’t thank me— it’s the least I could do for a friend. Since we’re friends, you know.” He looks down to her and holds a hand out; she takes it and he hoists herup, the river behind her once more. “Now, I believe you were asking me something about piloting the ship?”


End file.
